


When we're together on one road, we share one happiness.

by bydinh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bydinh/pseuds/bydinh
Summary: An intellectual discussion between the writer and reader about what "warm" is outside of the confines of definitive meaning explained and given by dictionaries through the means of the little things that fill Keith with this "warm." What "warm" is is far from "the quality or state of being warm in temperature" (Merriam-Webster).Warmth. With Lance, the “warm” blossomed as an everlasting flower; the warmth was never-ending.





	

It was warm. Comfortable.

The warmth Keith held onto was not as simple as the four-lettered word could define. The physicality of “warm” was of less importance than the rest of it—the internal feelings, the emotions, that created “warm.” It was the warmth in his chest that flourished outwards to reach his fingertips and toes, his nose, each single eyelash that fluttered open at daybreak; it was the warmth that was characterized by intangible feelings that he couldn’t articulate even if he had every word of every language at his disposal. 

The warmth was a lot of things. 

It was the kiss of sunrise, sunlight filtering through the blinds to brighten the small bedroom in a soft orange glow—a sepia, almost—that filled him with a sense of nostalgia that did not quite suit the word, as it is not something he remembered from the past or hopes for in the future, but the present that conjured such a feeling. It was his legs tangled together with his lover, their fingers intertwined, and their slow breaths lightly blowing Keith’s hair with every exhale. It was how when Keith would wake up in the middle of the night to the slow rise and fall of their chest, grumbled words slipping past their soft lips in the midst of slumber; how he would smile as he buried himself deeper into their chest, and how they would, despite still asleep, move their arms tighter around his waist.

Warmth was a few autumns ago when Keith had found them waiting for him at the doorstep to their new apartment they had bought together, wanting the first steps through the slightly run-down doorway to be in unison. It was last winter when they skipped classes to spend an entire day curled up on the couch with hot cocoa and slightly burnt homemade gingerbread cookies to watch _Home Alone_ , even the horrendous fourth one. It was the spring of Kindergarten when they had met, when Keith curiously watched as they made crowns out of the daisies that grew on the playground lawn for no one in particular.

It was summer. 

Summer. 

 

Summer is hot.

It is the deafening sounds of the cicadas beating at his eardrums, the sweltering heat of standing outside in dark, thick clothing, the sweat that soaked his back. It’s how the asphalt and cement radiated illusions of visible heat waves, mirages. 

It’s the heat of anger, frustration. The heat of tears that burns at his eyes and cheeks as they fell as if acid.

The suit feels heavy on Keith’s frame as he stands—stiff, still, silent. He looks straight ahead, afraid of the piteous stares that bore at his back, at his lover’s families’ backs, though his eyes are blurry with lack of any focal point in the distance. It is as if through seeing past the present he can return to the summer before, or the one before the last, or their first summer, or any—

_“I’m sorry for your loss, Keith. Lance loved you.”_

Summer mornings were always so comfortable. Lance had always managed to kick away the blankets throughout the night because of the heat; though he had always managed to do so without, as if through careful acrobatics, ever unlacing his arms from Keith’s waist. Lance would complain tirelessly of how they would wake with thin films of sweat covering their bodies, though never entertaining the idea of sleeping apart. He would always—

_“I’m so sorry.”_

The summer after they graduated—

_“My condolences, Keith.”_

Last summer they had gotten lost in—

“Keith.”

This summer they made a ritual, of sorts. They had watched sunsets on the roof of their apartment building almost every afternoon—

“Keith.”

—and he would always lean into Lance’s chest, the other’s chin resting atop his head. The pink and orange hues filled Keith with warmth. Warmth. With Lance, the “warm” blossomed as an everlasting flower; the warmth was never-ending. Warmth was last week, watching the summer sunset, when Lance had asked—

“Keith, the service is over.”

—Keith to marry him.

“Keith,” Hunk’s voice softens as he repeats the words slower, quieter, “the service is over.”

“It’s over,” Keith enunciates, each letter dripping off the tip of his tongue with an arid acridity.

It’s hot. Scalding. Burning.

“It’s over.”

Yet he felt so cold.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so...overwhelmed. I haven't written stories in like 40332425 years, so please excuse my painful and horrendous prose and style. This was mostly a resultant of diverting from the point in another piece I'm currently writing, and ended up being practice in playing with the past and present tenses, as well as stylistic choices. This started out a very happy domestic slow-burn piece, I swear by my life, but something happened half-way through.
> 
> If you've made it to the end, thank you so, so much for reading it. I hope you enjoyed it even a teensy weensy bit!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. This was loosely inspired by the song Một Nhà (One Home/House) by Da LAB, a very happy and chill and "sepia" song (as in nostalgic, but not really; just the feeling of nostalgia, really). I promise it's a happy song! It's also where the title comes from (put underneath this paragraph of a postscript). Plus, on YouTube there are English subtitles so you can bask in how happy the damn song is!
> 
> Khi hai ta chung một đường, ta vui chung một nỗi vui.


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